


We'll Put on the Day (and We'll Wear it 'till the Night Comes)

by shortystylee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortystylee/pseuds/shortystylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A braver Sansa would’ve grabbed her hand and pulled her down, kissing her roughly just to see what she’d do. Calm, collected Sansa doesn’t lose it in front of a beautiful lady whom she just met, especially when she has no idea how old said person is, or if she even likes girls. Calm, collected Sansa just shook her hand politely, if maybe for a second too long, then committed everything about her to memory.</p><p>A story where Sansa-meets-Margaery, where they keep meeting, and they keep meeting, and maybe one of these days the timing will be right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is the first time she’s ever wished that she did drive Arya to school in the morning, instead of her catching a ride with their dad on his way to work. Her car started making a gods awful metallic rattling and scraping noise just as soon as she’d made the turn out of her neighborhood. Arya would’ve known right away what was causing it. They didn’t have any of the same classes and their lockers weren’t close, but she managed to find her little sister at the one class she knew she’d never skip – her lunch hour.

 

“So, question. The car was making some weird noises on the way to school and I’m kinda worried about it.” There was an empty seat next to Arya at the long lunch table so Sansa sat down, dropping her backpack to the floor and pushing it under the chair with her foot, then bending down to pull-up her knee socks. She notices that Arya’s uniform skirt is absurdly short and obviously rolled up underneath the striped rugby polo she’s wearing with it, and shakes her head. It’s the only way her little sister has been able to rebel at their private school, and she knows Arya is secretly upset that it hasn’t gotten her in trouble yet.

 

“What’s it sound like?”

 

“Um, awful? Like metal against metal. Ya know, like that shit music you listen to.”

 

“Very funny,” she deadpanned. “Why don’t you take it to Gendry’s after school? He should be working today. I’m sure if it’s an easy fix he won’t charge you full price for it.”

 

“Lucky. The perks you must get from having a mechanic for a boyfriend.”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a boy, who’s a friend.”

 

“A friend who you makeout with.”

 

“Who I makeout with, sometimes.”

 

“All of the time.”

 

“Just take your damn car in, Sansa,” Arya replied, trying to end where that conversation was headed.

 

“You wanna come with? I always feel like those places are trying to screw me over since I know absolutely nothing about cars.”

 

“Can’t. Track practice after school.” Arya looked over at her plate and grabbed the large cookie off her plate that she hadn’t finished yet, tossing it in her backpack just as the bell rang. “I’ll be home for dinner. It’ll be fine. Gendry won’t screw you over or else he’ll have me to answer to.”

 

“Ugh, fine, Ar. He’d better not.” She pulled her backpack over her right shoulder, stood up from the table and started to walk away.

 

“Gods, you’re awful today,” she heard Arya yell after her. “Maybe _you_ should find a friend to makeout with!”

 

_Yea, like it’s that easy…._

 

XxXxX

 

Her car still made those awful metal noises when she drove it over to the shop that afternoon. Gendry had been able to get his mechanic’s license before he’d graduated last year, through some work-study program she didn’t even know their school offered, and had started working at Mott’s repair shop immediately, with the express instructions from his boss that he still take college classes on the side.

 

She walked in through the large open garage door, not bothering to check in at the reception desk since she’d rather just talk to Gendry directly. Something was different today. There’s no loud, pulsing music playing like there usually is when Gendry is there. _Either that or he’s definitely changed his music preferences_ , she thinks. The usual noise she’s learned is either Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, or Rage Against the Machine has been replaced by music she finds she enjoys much more, though she has no clue who it is. It’s a very masculine voice, at times a bit soulful, smooth and folksy, but there’s a distinct roughness to it.

 

 _Let me tell you that I'm dreaming to the twilight, this town has got me down._  
_I've seen all the highlights, I've been walking all around_  
_I won't make a fuss, I'll take a Greyhound bus, carry me away from here_  
_Tell me, what have I got to lose?_

 

“Hello?” Sansa calls out. She suddenly didn’t want to waltz on in there like she owns the place anymore. “Gendry?” She takes a few more steps inside and sees a person on a creeper underneath the engine compartment of an old muscle car. The car is painted cherry red with two black stripes running down it, and her best guess is that it’s from the 1960s or 70s, but she wouldn’t be able to guess the model to save her life. It’s up on two jack stands, but still isn’t very high off the ground, and all she can see are black boots with what she assumes are dark blue coveralls tucked in. She walks closer, feeling better now and breathes a little sigh of relief that Gendry _is_ here, and probably just can’t hear her. She calls Gendry’s name once more, and when she gets no responses she walks all the way over to him.

 

“Ugh, stupid boy,” she mutters to herself as she walks over. She stands for a minute, then kicks at his left boot with the toe of her brown leather penny loafers. “Hey, Gen, do you have a minute? I need some –”

 

She stops talking the instant she sees feet move, and he starts to roll out from under the car. She taps her feet a few times on the concrete, wishing he would just hurry up, but then stands stock still when she notices something… strange. There’s… hips, and a curving waist that leads to petite breasts and…

 

“Oh, gods, you’re not Gendry…” Sansa says, then clamps her mouth shut and leans her head forward, covering her eyes with her hands. “I am so, so sorry.”

 

“I was sort wondering how long it was gonna take for you to figure that out,” she says. Sansa looks up and immediately regrets that her school has a dress code, since she feels positively juvenile standing there in her uniform, loafers and knee socks, forest green pleated skirt and a grey pullover sweater over her button down shirt. “Gendry’s out right now, dropping off some stuff at that metal scrapyard across town. I’m Margaery, just started here yesterday.”

 

Sansa has to make herself stop staring and be polite, force herself to pull it together as Margaery wipes grease off her hand on a shop towel and offers her somewhat clean hand out to her. A braver Sansa would’ve grabbed her hand and pulled her down, kissing her roughly just to see what she’d do. Calm, collected Sansa doesn’t lose her shit in front of a beautiful lady whom she just met, especially when she has no idea how old said person is, or if she even likes girls. Calm, collected Sansa just shook her hand politely, if maybe for a second too long, then committed everything about her to memory.

 

She’s a few inches shorter than Sansa, but so are a lot of girls. In an instant, Sansa realizes this girl is everything she didn’t know she wanted. She’s trying to reconcile the expertly applied bright red lipstick and chestnut brown hair that’s slicked back like some fem James Dean, with the work boots, coveralls, and grease marks on her arms. It’s a mixture of Rosie the Riveter and the T-Birds from Grease, she thinks, although she’s pretty sure that Rosie the Riveter always wore her coveralls pulled all the way up, not slung dangerously low on her hips like Margaery does. Instead, she’s wearing a plain white tank top with a couple of grease marks across the front. She’s also pretty sure the Rosie the Riveter always wore a bra, but she’s very happy that Margaery doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary. She’s so feminine yet so masculine all at the same time and it’s frustratingly attractive.

 

“Sansa Stark,” she says to introduce herself. “If you’re not already busy, would you mind taking a look at my car? It’s been making this awful noise since this morning.”

 

“That’s what they pay me for.”

 

“Are you sure? I saw you working on that red car when I got here…”

 

“Oh, her?” Margaery asks, nodding towards the car in question. “She’s all mine, and I was just tinkering around, so don’t you worry. We’ll get yours all fixed up.”

 

It feels strange to be seated in the passenger seat of her own car, someone else driving it around the block, but Margaery insisted this was the best way for her to hear the noise for herself and figure out what was wrong. She’d pulled down the large garage door and yelled to the girl at the receptionist desk that she’d be back shortly.

 

“Sorry that Gendry’s not here to look at your car,” Margaery says as she backs the car out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “You’ll probably be out with him later tonight though, right?”

 

“What? Maybe. He doesn’t really come by our house very often, but…” Sansa tries to answer, and then it dawns on her why Margaery is asking this. “Oh, wait, he’s not my boyfriend. Is that what you thought?”

 

“Well, I guess, yea.” She blushes just a little bit at her assumption and Sansa thinks it has to be the most endearing thing she’s ever seen. “I dunno, he said he was dating this, quote, amazingly beautiful girl, and I thought it had to be you.”

 

She glances over as she nonchalantly says this, and now it’s Sansa’s turn to blush. Thankfully, the quiet silence between Margaery’s compliment and when Sansa can figure out how to possibly respond is interrupted by the metal noise.

 

“Oh, well,” Margaery starts, “I can see how that is quite alarming.” She turns another corner around the block and the noise happens again. “I’d like to get under her when we get back to the garage, but I’m pretty sure I know what it is.”

 

 _I’d like to get under_ you _when we get back to the garage_ , Sansa thinks, but only nods and says “Sure, no problem,” instead.

 

Once they’re back at the shop and the Margaery’s looked at the car, she tells her what’s wrong, something about exhaust and tailpipes and honestly she’s not listening when Margaery talks, just trying to keep her cool and not stare at her mouth. She does catch the part about it not being ready until Saturday afternoon, but at least it’s only one day without it, and she texts her mom to ask for a ride back from the shop.

 

There’s about twenty minutes until her mom can get there, and it seems like Margaery must be done working on her car for a bit, since she walks over to the back counter and starts working more diligently on wiping excess grease off her hands and dirt from her nails. The counter is surprisingly clean, and Sansa leans against it at first, then pushes herself up on to the counter, feet dangling halfway through the floor, and even though she usually hates it, right now she’s suddenly more than alright with how high her skirt rides up on her thighs. There’s a finite amount of time for her to spend with Margaery, and she intends to make the most of it.

 

She learns that Margaery met Gendry in their accounting class last semester, that he caught her skimming through car forums on her laptop during class. She learns the car that Margaery was under is her baby, a 1968 Pontiac Firebird she bought at a junkyard on her 16th birthday, which, _thank the gods_ , Sansa thinks, was only three years ago. She learns that the folksy, almost soulful man singing over the speakers earlier was Tom Waits, and since Margaery is shit at listening to a full album, she learns that the current voice coming through the speakers is Joni Mitchell.

 

 _Oh, won't you stay_  
_We'll put on the day_  
_And we'll wear it 'till the night comes_

 

She’s in the middle of telling Margaery about how she’s so happy her last semester of high school is almost over, only one more month, and then after this she’s done, she’s leaving Winterfell in June to move to Oldtown for school, when she sees her mom pull up in the parking lot to pick her up. She sighs, reluctantly pushes herself off the counter, thinking about how she wishes she’d interrupted her mom at the beginning of her grocery shopping trip, instead of near the end.

 

 _Oh, fuck it_.

 

“Hey, Margaery, I was thinking…” she starts, walking back towards the counter. “If you’re up for it, maybe you can take me for a drive in your car. Seems only fair since you got to drive mine and all.”

 

The moment seems to last forever between when Sansa says what is the smoothest line she’s ever thought of in her lifetime, until when Margaery raises an eyebrow at her, then smiles and takes a step closer.

 

“I’d love to,” Margaery replies, her hand moving to Sansa’s elbow. “Tonight? It’d have to be late though, I’ve got dinner with friends after work.”

 

Margaery sends a message to Sansa so she has her number, and she receives another a few hours later asking if midnight is too late, and _you don’t have a curfew, do you_? She does, despite that it’s a Friday night and there’s no school the next morning, but she decides that since Arya became an expert at sneaking out years ago then she can do it too. She texts back quickly, that midnight is fine, that she’ll be waiting.

 

Sansa gets a text from Margaery seconds before midnight, but she’s already been hiding out in the garage since her parents went to bed thirty-five minutes ago. She can see Margaery’s car at the road, headlights turned off, but there’s enough light from the dashboard to see that it’s her.

 

It’s surprisingly warm for a May night in Winterfell. She closes the screen door as softly as possible, then takes one last glance up at her parents’ bedroom window, which is still dark, with the shades drawn, and adjusts the small purse she’s got on her shoulders. Her shoes make small noises when she runs the length of the long asphalt driveway to the road, and she hopes Margaery doesn’t mind that for some damned reason she decided not to change out of her uniform.

 

She opens the door and slides in, setting her purse on the floor, and getting settled in the black leather seats, surprisingly soft from years of use. She notices that Margaery looks different now, there’s no coveralls of course, and her hair is a wavy mess around her face and shoulders. There’s a large round pair of rose-colored sunglasses perched on the top of her head, as if she’s been driving around since before sunset, and she’s wearing this delicate white knee-length linen dress, which almost glows in the yellowy light from the dashboard. There’s a wide suede belt at her waist and matching knee-high boots, and Sansa wonders if any aspect of Margaery’s personality is from the current decade. This version she’s seeing, a twist on the late 60s summer-of-love look she’s seen in her parents’ old photo albums seems to work much more nicely with the music that’d been playing in the shop earlier. Not that Sansa really knew about it, but she’d quickly Googled and read everything she could find about Tom Waits and Joni Mitchell as soon as she was inside her mom’s car.

 

She reaches over her right shoulder for the seatbelt, only to come up short. Margaery apologizes, says she hasn’t gotten around to changing over from the lap belts to the modern-style seatbelts yet, and smiles when she says she promises to get Sansa home safely.

 

“I trust you. I’d just never been in a car like this before, it’s amazing,” Sansa says, taking the time to look around, and trying not to show the flash of disappointment on her face when she realizes for the first time that there’s no backseat.

 

“Well, she’s a good old girl, if you treat her right. Should’ve seen her when I first bought her though, she was one hell of a mess.”

 

Margaery flips the headlights back on, and Sansa finds she can’t help but watch as she effortlessly moves through the gears, and it’s oddly… _arousing? Has it really been that long since I’ve had a girlfriend? Been on a date? Yes, yes it has._ She’s still not entirely sure what they’re doing, or where they’re going, and even though this is the exact opposite of the type of thing she’s used to doing, she’s decided that for at least tonight she’s just going to see where life takes her.

 

They make their way away from the Stark house and down the dirt roads, and Sansa finds herself listening to yet another song she’s never heard of, a soft and raspy female voice.

 

 _Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose_  
_Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no no_  
_And, feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues_  
_You know, feelin' good was good enough for me_

 

Sansa stops listening entirely when Margaery reaches over and takes her left hand from where it’s sitting in her lap. She watches, eyes wide and heart pounding, as Margaery presses a kiss to the back of it, and sets it down on her leg, lacing their fingers together.  “So, where do you want to go?”

 

“Anywhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa gets a text promptly at 7am, which wakes her and she immediately startles, not recognizing where she is at first, but it doesn’t take her long to figure it out. Light filters in to the bedroom through sheer curtains, and from how she’s laying on her side she can see a full bookshelf, a desk with a closed MacBook and a model of the car she now knows rather well. She rolls over and sees Margaery just inches from her, wrapped up in the soft grey sheets.

 

It takes all of the willpower that she can muster to roll over again to her left side, then reach over to the nightstand and grab her phone, instead of pulling Margaery over to her and trying to fall back asleep. She groans when she see that the text is from Arya, and that is only says “call me now” followed by a large number of angry face emoji. She sighs, swings her legs around and hangs them off the side of the bed as she calls her sister. She smiles to herself briefly while waiting for Arya to answer, when she looks down herself, taking in her wrinkled white button down then bare legs and thighs, instantly remembering every place Margaery’s hands were on her just a few hours ago.

 

“Hey, Ar, what’s up?”

 

“You owe me,” Arya answers. “You owe me big this time, Sansa. I covered for you this morning when mom woke up and you were gods knows where, so next time I wanna spend the night at Gendry’s you better have my back.”

 

“Spend the night? I thought you said you guys only makeout.”

 

“I don’t think you’re the one that gets to be snarky right now.”

 

 _She’s right. Arya does hold all the cards right now_. “Fine, fine. What’d you tell mom?”

 

“You’re not gonna like it.”

 

“Just tell me.”

 

“I told her that you went over Jeyne’s really early and that you two went out running…”

 

“Arya, I’ve only got my uniform with me…”

 

“Not my problem.”

 

“So mom is expecting me to come home, not only sweaty, but also in my running gear?” Sansa feels Margaery moving in the bed now, and now has to try to keep her breathing even as she feels calloused palms and fingertips playing at her hips. She assumes Margaery is kneeling behind her, judging by the way the bed shifts.

 

“Pretty much,” Arya replies. Margaery’s hands are under Sansa’s button down now, winding their way from her hips up the sides of her ribs, the shirt bunching up, and Sansa’s somehow managed to keep her cool so far, but she can’t hold in her gasp as fingertips find their way around swell of her breast, flicking over an already hard nipple, then pulling her back flush against Margaery’s chest. “…Sansa, what was that? …are you and Margaery… oh, sweet fuck, _you_ _are_ , aren’t you?”

 

“Um, sorry, Arya, talk to you later,” she quickly blurts out, hitting the end call button on her phone probably a bit too hard, then tossing it onto the foot of the bed. She looks over her shoulder to Margaery, who’s kneeling behind her with a very satisfied look on her face. “You’re horrible,” she whispers.

 

She can’t quite reach Sansa’s cheek from the angle she’s at now, so she places a kiss below her ear instead. “No, I’m not,” she replies, “I think you know I’m quite good.” Sansa whines as Margaery’s hands retreat from her shirt, smoothing it down her sides as if to put it back in place properly. She pulls her feet back up onto the bed and is just about to call her a tease, but Margaery is on her instantly, kissing her roughly and pushing her to lie back down.

 

“Do we have time? I’m sure you heard, but I’m supposedly running right now…” she asks when Margaery pulls away, watching the girl slink her way down body, but stopping right before she gets close enough to where Sansa actually wants her. Sansa reaches over and grabs the pillow from the other side of the bed, propping herself up with it, because it was dark last night and she wants nothing more right now than to watch whatever Margaery has planned. She rubs her thighs together, really only making the pressure that’s building there that much worse, and sees Margaery raise one eyebrow at her. _Cocky_.

 

“Well, I know I’ve got some gym shorts and a t-shirt around here somewhere,” Margaery says. She’s started using one hand to work at undoing Sansa’s shirt one button at a time, leaving wet open mouthed kisses to the new skin that’s exposed after each one, the other hand gripping tightly to her right hip, partially keeping her in place with how she’s squirming, partially making it worse by continuing to run her fingers under the lace waistband of her underwear. “…and I’ve got every intention of making sure you leave here as sweaty as I can make you.”

 

XxXxX

 

They were both quiet until they arrived at the first major intersection. Sansa was starting to think that maybe it was a bad idea to ask Margaery to hang out, they’d only held one conversation for all of not even a half hour, and she was growing uncertain about if things were going to be awkward or not, if they were actually compatible outside of the fantasy world she’d created in her head in the past six hours.

 

“While I love the idea of ‘anywhere,’” Margaery starts, “I’m afraid we do need to actually make a decision.”

 

Sansa makes an exaggerated noise to show that she’s thinking about it, and then it finally comes to her. “I know exactly where to go,” she says, and gives the first couple of directions. If Margaery minds being directed to some mystery location, she doesn’t make any complaints about it. The route takes them away from the city, then turns off onto one of the county highways, winding its way up into the foothills at the outskirts of the city. The playlist with the song that was playing in the car when she first got in finally ends, and Margaery takes her hand from Sansa’s for a quick moment to change the music. She’s had to extract her hand each time she needed to change gears, though Sansa’s kept hers on Margaery’s leg the whole time, drawing lazy circles whenever it’s alone.

 

_Hide it in the hiding place where no one ever goes_

_Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes_

_It's a little secret, just the Robinson's affair_

_Most of all you've got to hide it from the kids_

 

“Ya know,” Sansa begins, a wide smile growing on her face, “This is the first song I’ve heard you play that I actually have heard before.”

 

“Mrs. Robinson?” Margaery says, and Sansa nods in agreement. “I know it’s kind of old and all, but have you seen The Graduate?”

 

“Um, of course. Just one word: Plastics,” she quotes, giggling at how funny she always found that part. “Gods, Anne Bancroft could totally get it.”

 

She looks over at Margaery when she says that, sees her eyes widen and she adjusts her grip on the steering wheel, but she keeps driving on. The mood has changed though, and Sansa has a feeling that she _knows_ now… Knows that at least Sansa could be attracted to her, knows that she’s not here for a late night joy ride because she secretly loves old muscle cars, though she’s positive she could learn to love this one.

 

“It’s through that entryway and then right down the first street, maybe five hundred feet,” Sansa points out. They pass by a sign that says ‘Scenic Overlook’ and another stating no open fires, no camping, and that the park closed at dusk.

 

Margaery pulls into the small parking area, clearly only big enough for a few cars to park, take a look at the view, and then be on their way to whatever other sights they’re seeing on their vacation. At this time of night, they’re the only car parked there, _thank the gods_ , Sansa thinks. The view isn’t as breathtaking as it is in the daytime when she’d come up here with their whole family, but even without leaving the car they can still see out over Winterfell, the lights from the small city center and the suburbs sprawling out on the surrounding plains. The Kingsroad Highway is a faint white line that leads to a tiny speck of lights in the distance at Cerwyn. Margaery cuts the engine and pulls the parking brake, but leaves the car running so the stereo and dashboard lights still are on.

 

“Is this place what I think it is?”

 

“Yep, Winterfell’s very own makeout point.” Sansa’s almost proud of herself for thinking of this place, since she’s definitely never been here under these circumstances before. She unbuckles her lap belt and scoots further up in the seat, throwing her arm around the headrest as she turns left to face Margaery.

 

“Sansa Stark, you’re trying to seduce me,” she says with a smirk, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Is it working?”

 

“Yes.” Margaery’s reply is immediate, without any show of hesitation. The dashboard throws off a little bit of green hazy light in the car, and it’s easy to see her blown out pupils, dilated to the point where the brown is almost completely gone.

 

It’s the first time since she’s been in Margaery’s presence that she hasn’t been able to pay attention to whatever classic folksy song is playing, it’s impossible to do so with the way Margaery is looking at her, she’s never had someone look at her this way, hungrily, like she wants to devour her whole. She thinks for a second that it’d be a picture perfect idea for her to climb over the center console, straddling her thighs and leaning back against the steering wheel, but Sansa is the taller of the two of them, it’ll never work in this car.

 

“Good,” Sansa replies. Abandoning her fleeting idea to climb over the armrest, instead she reaches across the car, takes Margaery’s hand and gives it a little tug. “Now get over here.” There’s something about tonight that’s making her act much bolder than she normally does, and whether it’s the fact that she’s already snuck out and might as well make the most of it, if she’s gonna get in trouble she figures she should go for it, or that she’s definitely been aware of all the glances Margaery has stolen of her bare thighs in her uniform skirt on the drive here.

 

Sansa watches as Margaery expertly climbs over the center console, holding her linen skirt up and out of the way as she deftly avoids the gear stick and the armrest. _She’s definitely done that move before_. The seats are wide and there’s plenty of room for Margaery’s thighs to bracket hers. Despite that it’s Sansa’s hands that find their way to the hem of the older girl’s skirt, pulling it up so she’s not sitting on it, brushing her fingers along her smooth skin along her thighs, Margaery leans over Sansa, pushing her own hair out of her face and asks if everything is okay.

 

Everything is more than okay, amazing, really. She nods, then Margaery moves closer, crowding herself as close as she can get to Sansa, hindered only when her knees hit the fabric of the seatback. Her hands are in Sansa’s intricate braid, deft fingers pulling it loose from the hair tie at the same time as they pull her towards Margaery, and she finally, _finally_ kisses her. Sansa moves one of her hands from its grip on Margaery’s thigh, snaking it up her torso, fingers purposefully brushing against her breast before grabbing on to her hair. Margaery kisses her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth and running her teeth across it at the same time as she tightens her grip just so on Sansa’s hair. Sansa moans, feeling Margaery smile against her lips before she moves away, just slightly, beginning a trail of kisses up her jawline.

 

“That’s right, sweet girl, I want to hear you, please don’t hold back from me,” she says, voice husky and breath warming her ear, and it only elicits another moan from Sansa, louder this time. “Well, aren’t you a good listener.”

 

It’s not long before she’s got the top half of buttons on Sansa’s shirt undone, tugging the two sides of the fabric apart, trailing her fingers from the hollow of her throat to the top of her breasts, showing off the bra that’s usually kept hidden in the far back of her underwear drawer when –

 

Two loud knocks on the window of the car sends them pulling away from each other, Margaery lets out a hissing noise as she jumps and her head hits the roof, but all Sansa can think of is not how much trouble she’s gonna catch now, but all those urban legends that Robb tells about men with hooks for hands escaping asylums and preying on teens making out in cars at night.

 

The windows are fogged up, but there’s light on the other side from what’s obviously a flashlight beaming at the passenger side window. “Shit, shit, shit,” is all Sansa can say under her breath, as Margaery leans back, rubs the crown of her head a few times, then starts to roll down the passenger window.

 

“Any reason you’re parked out…” the police officer starts, squatting down and shining the flashlight in car at them. Sansa’s eyes adjust and that’s when she realizes she may be screwed.

 

“Oh, good evening, Sansa,” he replies, then looks over at Margaery, “…and Sansa’s friend.”

 

“Evening, Jory, err, Officer Cassel.”

 

“Say, it’s been a while since I’ve been by, but how’re your parents doing?”

 

“They’re fine, sir, all things considered, though my dad’s been complaining that all the rain lately is making his knee hurt and affecting his golf swing.” She sneaks the quickest of glances over at Margaery, who looked might’ve been turned to stone if she wasn’t still trying to catch her breath.

 

“And do Ned and Catelyn know what you’re getting up to this late at night?” Sansa shook her head no. “I had a feeling that was the case,” he said, pausing for a second. “I won’t be telling them about this, not as long as you two head out as soon as we’re done talking.”

 

 _Oh, thank the Mother_ , Sansa thinks. “Of course, Officer Cassel, we’ll do just that.”

 

“Drive safe, ladies,” Jory says, turning off the flashlight and walking back to the police car parked next to them. They watch as he gets in, puts his seatbelt on, and messes around with something on the laptop stand.

 

The second he drives away, Margaery falls forward onto Sansa, both of them bursting out laughing.

 

XxXxX

 

It’s almost 10am when Sansa comes walking up the driveway and sees her mother with her large sun hat on, weeding around the rosebushes in the front garden. _Hope she doesn’t realize these aren’t my running clothes_ , she thinks, _or ask why I’ve got my uniform stuffed in a purse_. Her mom doesn’t mention the outfit at all, just asks how the run went.

 

“Good, tiring though,” Sansa lies. “I’ve really gotta work on my speed work at the track this week, Jeyne’s really starting to pick up the pace.”

 

She heads inside through the garage, running into Arya in the mudroom. She takes one looks at Sansa and makes a disgusted face. “You smell like fucking,” she remarks.

 

“Well, that’s because –“

 

“Nope, I’m out. Not listening to that.”

 

XxXxX

 

Arya drove the car back from the shop on Saturday, and I t’s Thursday before Sansa has the free time after school to head over to the shop, but it’s been almost a week, and she’s just itching to see Margaery again. _Stupid volleyball practice_ , she thinks, but tries to get all those thoughts out of her head as she pulls in and parks in one the empty visitor spots out front. As she sat at her table at lunch earlier that day, she saw someone across the lunchroom get surprised with birthday balloons, and got the idea to show up at the show to surprise Margaery.

 

There’s some sort of loud, angry rock music playing as the walks in, definitely not Margaery’s music, so maybe Gendry is also working today. She rounds the corner to the shop floor and sees Gendry, bent over the hood of some classic car, covered in grease and elbows deep in the engine. She’d never understood what Arya found sexy about that before, but when her mind replaces him with Margaery in the same situation, she realizes her and Arya might have a little more in common than they thought. She clears her throat and when he notices her, she asks if he can point her in the direction of Margaery.

 

“Margaery?” Gendry asks, a confused look on his face. “…she’s not here.”

 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t even think that she might not work today,” Sansa explains. “I’d wanted to surprise her.”

 

He stops what he’s doing and starts wiping off his arms with a shop rag, though it doesn’t do much, and then walks closer to her. He’s still got that confused look on his face and honestly, it’s starting to get her worried.

 

“…she didn’t tell you?”

 

“Tell me what?”

 

“Sansa…,” he starts. “I don’t know how to say this, but she’s gone. Moved back to Highgarden two days ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter after taking a year... I'm slowly getting back into writing and updating WIPs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy, changing that rating to M. Hopefully it's alright.

22 years old and she's gotten herself into plenty of weird situations.  _ If Arya wants to spend her birthday in the city doing the most random assortment of activities, who am I to object _ ? They'd started the evening at a fancy new sushi place in the harbor district, then took the trolley to an axe-throwing range.

The final stop on the birthday tour was a bar that was half drinks at a table that hadn't been wiped in ages, half punk rock venue, and one hundred percent Arya. Their group’s things are strewn about on the bench seats surrounding the table, forgotten as the rest of the group aside from Sansa has moved to the floor to wait for the next band. The music playing currently over the speakers is just to tide people over until the next band, but no one seems to care, especially not Arya, dancing along to the song with as much enthusiasm as if it were live. Sansa doesn't recognize this song, or any that have played, but it's amusing watching everyone singing along, and she gets how the lyrics probably speak to a lot people. _Do you remember, when you were young and you wanted to set the world on fire?_ Gendry is out there too, looking at his girlfriend,  _ no, fiancé _ , she reminds herself, like she's everything. Sansa feels a slight pang of jealousy for her sister's relationship, the one that no one thought would last but somehow ended up to be for the long haul.

She sighs, slinking down against the wooden back of the booth, and grabbing her whiskey sour off the table, playing with the two tiny red straws. She checks her phone for the time, anxious to leave. It's not that everyone is enjoying themselves more, and she's resigned to babysitting the bags, but the second they walked in here Sansa's felt like someone has been watching her. She hasn't been able to find the person, whoever they are, though she's scanned the place several times, and has been starting to think she's just being paranoid.

That is, until she finally brings the drink to her lips, and takes a look up through her eyelashes and sees the person sniping her from across the dance floor.

_ Margaery Fucking Tyrell. _

Sansa is glued to her seat as Margaery walks over.  _ It’s been, what? Four and a half years since she ghosted? _ She’d been confused when Gendry first told her that Margaery had just up and left, driving off with her life packed in the back of her car and apologizing for not giving any notice. He’d assumed it was some sort of family emergency but she didn’t give him any real reason. Anger came next, aimed first at Margaery for not even texting to tell her, and then at herself for being a naïve little girl who falls for the first free spirit who flies in her path. Too angry to call her, and that feeling lasted a few weeks, before Sansa figured it wasn’t meant to be anyways, since she’d be going off to Oldtown for university soon. It was a good memory, that night, and now that memory was walking towards her looking like nothing had changed.  _ She’s still dressed like a T-Bird _ , Sansa thinks, looking at her in dark denim jeans, a crisp white t-shirt, Doc Martens, a faded leather jacket, and slicked back hair.

“Of all the punk bars, in all the towns, in all the world…” Margaery starts, taking her time as she slowly moves her eyes up Sansa’s body. 

“I end up in the one where you are,” Sansa finishes. For a second she feels scrutinized by Margaery’s obvious ogling, and wishes her skirt wasn’t quite so short, or her blouse wasn’t as revealing, or hells, that it had any back to speak of. But she sees a familiar hunger in the other girl’s eyes and it makes her feel powerful.  _ Let her look all she wants _ , she thinks before she speaks again. “Hey, stranger.”

XxXxX

There’s a loud pounding on the door and they can hear someone on the other side yelling about needing to use the bathroom.

“Mother of gods!” Margaery yells. Annoyed, she pulls her lips off Sansa’s, her head whipping around to glare at the closed door. “What’s the world coming to when two people can’t fool around in the bathroom of a bar anymore?”

“You wanna get out of here?” Sansa asks. She has to bend over to rest her forehead against Margaery’s. It’s not the smartest position they’re in, doing nothing to make up for the height difference. Sansa has been pushed almost up and into the sink, but she can’t complain about the cold porcelain when Maggy’s hands feel like fire on her thighs, rucking her skirt up higher, making her heart pound faster as those hands get closer and closer to where she wants them. “I doubt Arya will miss me.”

“Your place?”

Sansa shakes her head. She pushes herself off the sink and adjusts her skirt back to it’s proper length. “No, I don’t live in the city. Just in town for Arya’s birthday weekend. Your place instead?” Margaery nods, taking Sansa’s hand to lead her out of the bathroom and back into the bar.

Sansa spots Arya from across the room as she grabs her blazer from the pile of coats at their booth. She catches her sister’s gaze and shrugs in reply. There’s no doubt in her mind that Arya recognizes Maggy and might say something tomorrow, but she could not care less about that right now.  _ Let her chastise me all she wants at brunch _ , she thinks.  _ I know exactly what I’m doing _ .

They take a cab back to Margaery’s, one out of a number of green Priuses lined up outside of the club. Hands still laced together, they slide into the back seat of the first car, and Maggy rattles off her address to the driver. They’re both quiet on the ride, and it’s almost grossly domestic when Sansa scoots closer and leans into Maggy’s side, laying her head easily on the shorter girl’s shoulder. The driver turns the radio back up when he pulls away from the curb, to the classic rock station.  _ My love is the evenin’ breeze touchin’ your skin _ , the radio plays, and Sansa doesn’t look up, just holds on a little bit tighter.

It doesn’t take long to get to Maggy’s place, and they each hand the driver a ten when he stops in front of the building. She holds her hand out for Sansa again once they’re both out of the car.

There’s something she feels when Maggy looks at her, touches her – this strange electric feeling she’s never had with anyone else. It strikes like lightning when she first sees her, like tonight from the floor of the club, the feeling of those brown eyes shocking her into place. It’s a heady sensation that never ceases to astonish Sansa, like she’s been in a dark room and someone suddenly flicks on the lights. It makes her knees weaken and her heart threaten to explode. Now though, now it’s a low current just sizzling, flowing beneath the surface as they cross the grass courtyard, hand in hand, to Margaery’s studio.

Once inside, they take the elevator eight floors up, Sansa crowding Margaery into the corner near the buttons as soon as the door closes. She breathes out a confession, “I’ve missed you,” and pulls Maggy into her, allowing herself to run her fingers through her short hair, smiling when her hand finds the shaved undercut at the nape of her neck. “And I think about you more than I should.” She thought that she’d sobered up a bit on the taxi ride, but the words flow out of her in way that makes her think otherwise.  _ In vino, veritas is right _ , she thinks,  _ or in this case, cheap whisky _ . 

The doors open and Sansa reluctantly gives her space to lead the way. There’s someone waiting for the elevator, so the pair stumble into the hallway and then into Margaery’s unit with as much grace as they can muster. Orange light from the streetlights outside is coming in through the large picture window, and she takes a moment to look around the simple studio apartment: kitchen and a door she assumes leads to a bathroom at her right, and in front of her there’s a small living room area, with a low modern platform bed behind it. 

There’s a row of coat hooks on the wall next to the door, and she hangs her handbag on a free one as she takes a few more steps inside. It’s quiet except for the faint sounds of the traffic outside, and she hears the distinctive sound of the deadbolt locking behind her, a chain latch soon following. Maggy hands trace up Sansa’s arms and take hold of the lapels of her blazer from behind, peeling it off her shoulders and setting it on a kitchen barstool. Next, she takes the bottom of Sansa’s emerald green blouse in her hands, untucks it from the waist of her skirt and pulls it over her head, kissing up her back as she reveals more skin. As she comes to Sansa’s front, she tosses the shirt aside and kisses her. Sansa takes Margaery’s face in her hands, returning her kiss for a split second, but then she backs off, grabs the white t-shirt Maggy still has on and pulls it over her head. 

“Were you hoping to bring someone home tonight?” Sansa asks, half serious, when she finally takes in the flimsy bralette thing she’d her hands on earlier in the bar’s bathroom. Margaery opens her mouth to reply, but Sansa silences her with a finger against her lips. “Joking, babe.” 

Sansa toes her heels off at the same time as Margaery kicks off her Docs, both giggling as Sansa loses a few inches of height. They gravitate towards each other again; it’s easier for Maggy to kiss Sansa now that she’s a good three inches shorter. There’s a shift in the energy in that kiss, like they’re both done messing around. A tangle of pulling hands help them shed more clothes, with Margaery guiding them backwards across the apartment. They’re both down to their underwear when Sansa’s knees hit the side of the platform bed. She climbs on and sits back against the tufted fabric headboard, her knees pulled up to her chest. Margaery takes the hint, climbing up and Sansa thinks she’s never seen anything quite as exquisite as watching her crawl on her hands and knees towards her.  _ Another image committed to memory _ . 

Her hands smooth up Sansa’s legs, straightening them and straddling her, then cups her chin, eyes burning into hers. “Oh, my sweet, I’ve missed you too.” Margaery’s voice is low and husky, dangerous, and does nothing to quell that delicious ache growing between her legs. Her hand lingers on Sansa’s cheek as she kisses down her neck to her shoulders; a sharp gasp escapes her lips when Margaery sucks a mark just below her collarbone. “Missed these noises you make for me.” She pulls away a touch, just enough to slip a finger under Sansa’s bra strap, dragging it slowly down her shoulder. It’s a mess of criss-crossing straps and black lace, and leaves zero to the imagination. Sansa’s eyes close at the feeling of the strap pulling down her arm, Margaery leans in and kisses swell of her breast. “I’ve missed your perfect little tits,” she whispers, breath hot against her skin, and swirls her tongue over a nipple through the lace. Sansa bucks her hips at the sensation, a throaty groan emerging from her lips, that turns into a growl as she digs her fingers into Maggy’s hip bones, deftly flipping their positions. 

She runs her hand down the hollow between Margaery’s breasts, over the softness of her tummy, and slides her hand across the outside of her panties, groaning when she finds her completely soaked through. “Gods, Maggy,” Sansa breathes, fingers nimbly dipping under the waistband and peeling the small scrap of fabric off. “This all for me, babe?” Margaery nods eagerly, lower lip pinned down tight with her teeth, coherent words not emerging as long fingers expertly caress her wet folds, her breath coming out in short exhales. Being the taller of the pair, it’s easy for Sansa to press her weight into Margaery, keeping her where she wants, licking and nipping at the pulse point in her neck; she savors the sounds she pulls from her as she slips a finger inside and another soon after, her own moans escaping as she feels Maggy clenching around her finger.    
  
The power she has over Maggy is intoxicating; she feels invincible hearing the throaty sighs and cries of  _ yes, Sansa, fuck, pleasepleaseplease _ , that coincide with the slow push and pull of her fingers. It crosses Sansa’s mind to continue this way, to wait to give her anything more until she’s desperate and begging for Sansa to let her come, but instead she goes for mercy. She brings her other hand down, flicks her thumb across Margaery’s clit, enjoying the response she gets as Maggy lets out a string of curses, her back arching off the bed, and whines, high-pitched and needy before rasping out  _ more, Sansa, I need — _

She listens, pressing quick circles around her clit as Maggy grinds down on her fingers. Sansa watches her movements for a moment, entranced by the way Maggy fucks herself on her fingers, so eager, chasing her release.

She coaxes Maggy’s orgasm from her, fingers buried to the hilt and curling, heel of her hand pressed against her clit, tongue paying equal attention to the nipple closest to her. Sansa’s name is on her lips when she comes, one hand gripping the bed sheets and another woven into Sansa’s hair. Sansa helps her down from the high, removing her fingers and lightly stroking her folds until the sensation gets to Maggy and she whispers,  _ too much.  _

She goes up to her knees, watching Maggy catch her breath, and keeping her eyes trained on her as she licks her fingers clean, unable to wipe the smile off her face as she’s reminded of how sweet Maggy tastes. Throwing a leg over, Sansa straddles her again and leans down, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on her tongue. She revels in the feeling of Maggy’s hands on her, fingernails scraping up and down her legs; they wrap around the back of her thighs and start to pull her upwards towards the headboard.

“Hmm,” Sansa murmurs, questioning. “Where are you taking me?”

“I want you to get up here and ride my face,” Maggy explains, a needy tone to her voice. 

“Fucking hells, Maggy,” she says in a slow exhale, amazed at how despite all they’ve done, Maggy’s words can still make her feel so scandalized. Sansa feels her body tighten and convulse at those words, more wetness pooling between her legs. As she goes back to her knees and begins to shimmy closer, Maggy takes one of her fingers and runs it up the length of Sansa’s inner thigh, sweeping away the juices that have spilled over. She brings it to her mouth, tongue flicking out to lick it clean.

The noises Maggy makes are obscene, and Sansa absolutely thrives off it. “Be patient, sweetness,” she says, knowing that Maggy is looking forward to this just as much as she is. 

Maggy helps her into position astride her face, and when she’s pleased, her hands are everywhere they can reach, kneading Sansa’s ass, splayed across her stomach, dragging fingernails over her thighs. She cranes her head up and gives a long, slow lick up her slit, then urging Sansa to fuck herself on the flat of her tongue, little shudders and breath hitches each time she pushes up high enough to reach her clit. Margaery peeks up through her eyelashes to look at Sansa; her left hand white knuckling the headboard and the right flat against the wall, back arched and head thrown back. Her eyes are screwed shut and mouth hangs open, unable to see the quick smirk on Maggy’s face before she stills Sansa’s movements and takes over, quickly relearning what she likes. 

“Fuck, Maggy, your mouth is a miracle.” Sansa’s words come out low and desperate, and she can feel Margaery smile against her skin. She places a hand at the small of Sansa’s back, and she runs the other down her side and under a thigh, stroking across her wet folds before dipping two fingers inside with ease. 

Sansa can feel her orgasm approaching, pressure building and insides tightening as Margaery slowly pumps her fingers; she moves a touch lower down and Maggy leans up, circling her tongue around Sansa’s clit one last time before she takes it in her mouth and sucks. And, oh gods, it’s exactly enough to bring her over the edge. There’s nothing but nonsense noises and whispers of  _ fuckmargaeryfuck _ babbling out of her mouth as her climax hits her.

“That’s a good girl,” Maggy praises, as she slowly removes her fingers and grabs hold of Sansa’s waist, her legs turning to jello as her breathing calms. She helps pull one leg over to meet its mate, and eases her down to the mattress, tucking the taller girl into her side. Maggy strokes her hair and shushes her, soft whispers of praise and kisses pressed to her temple. 

“Maggy?” Sansa props herself up on one elbow, high enough to look at her. She wonders sometimes what it’d be like if this was real - kiss her girlfriend’s nose, slip her feet into the pair of moccasins she keeps at the side of the bed, pad into the kitchen for a glass of water. She’d smile at handwritten to-do lists stuck on the fridge with touristy magnets from Dorne, or Summer Isles, or some national park, all places they’ve been on vacation together, and she’d grab an old t-shirt to sleep in, one stained with burgundy paint from when they attempted to paint an accent wall. 

“What’s wrong, babe?” Maggy’s answer serves to derail Sansa’s daydreams. 

“Oh, nothing,” Sansa answers, because that’s what this is -  _ nothing _ . “Just thirsty.” Maggy shifts to let her out of the bed. When she gets to the fridge, there’s no tourist magnets, just a post-it note with the landlord’s cell number and a magnet for the local pizza place. She doesn’t know her way around the kitchen and has to open four cupboards before finding a glass. There’s no old oversized t-shirt to sleep in, so she slips under the covers naked. The mattress dips as Maggy rolls over, and Sansa quickly drifts off to sleep. 

XxXxX

Sansa wakes when the sun starts to shine in through the vertical blinds. She doesn’t regret what’s happened again, but she also knows there’s no point in continuing to lay here any longer and live out this fantasy that’s unavailable to her. The longer she waits, the more likely it is that she’ll reach over and rouse Maggy awake for the sleepy Sunday morning sex she desperately wants. Slowly, she rolls over, extracting herself from the arm that’s flung over her. Gods, she wishes she could have this, but it’s not realistic, or based on anything at this point besides mutual attraction and amazing chemistry.  _ Is that not enough _ ? It should be, but isn’t. 

She sighs and walks to the bathroom, gathering up bits of discarded clothing as she goes. Phone unlocked, Sansa flicks through to Uber, praying to the Seven that there’ll be drivers out and about at eight in the morning on a Sunday. There are, so she orders one, uses the bathroom, then dresses. Maggy is still sleeping, having turned over since Sansa went in the bathroom. The comforter has slid down, exposing the bare skin of her back, the rose tattoo that starts on her upper left shoulder then snakes its way down her ribcage. It wasn’t there five years ago, and she imagines cancelling her ride and climbing back into bed. She knows the way the Maggy’s skin feels, warm against her hands, knows the way she reacts when Sansa runs her fingers over her sides and up her back, and now all she wants is to get more personal with her new tattoo, commit it to memory like she has with everything else.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, alerting her that the Uber is close.  _ Foolish thoughts _ , she tells herself,  _ a surefire way to make this hurt even more than it does _ . Sansa grabs her shoes and tiptoes to the door, closing it slowly behind her.

Her Uber arrives, and Sansa knows that this guy… that he  _ knows _ this is her walk of shame. He thankfully senses that she’s not into early morning small talk, so he turns the volume up on the radio, the same classic rock station they’d heard in the taxi the night before. She leans over, forehead against the cool glass and closes her eyes, allowing herself to try to be lulled into a calm by the vibrations of the window. Roger Daltrey leads the rest of The Who on the radio, and Sansa can’t help but feel the song is for her.

_ Won’t get fooled again _ .

XxXxX

“You sure you want to drink more, Arya?” Sansa asks after the server drops off their drink order. The Uber dropped her off at her sister’s apartment, where she showered and quickly ran off to the restaurant Arya had suggested for brunch. Not surprisingly, knowing Arya, it was less swanky brunch hotspot and more blue collar dinner with checkerboard floor tiles and walls covered in stickers. Apparently, they had a liquor license though. “After the night you had.”

“Come on, Sans. A Bloody Mary is practically a salad.” Arya points at the stalk of celery in the glass as if that solidifies its place in the food pyramid. “Hair of the dog, or whatever it is they say. Besides, you wouldn’t know about most of my night, sneaking off with Margaery Tyrell like that.”

“Let’s not bring her –”

“She must be a really good lay or something, yea? If she still pulls your attention like that after how long?”

“There’s just something about her,” Sansa says, pausing for a moment as their food arrives. “It seems like she’s this powerful magnet that draws me in whenever I see her." Arya starts to dig into her cowboy omelet, listening to her sister’s explanation without butting in. “Which, honestly, I never thought I would again, especially not in some punk club in Kings Landing.”

Arya nods, leaning over to grab a bottle of hot sauce from the table next to them. "Who knows. Seems to me you two just have shit timing, that's all. She couldn't help what happened before, with her brother,” Arya adds. Sansa knows what her sister is referring to - the first time around when Maggy seemed to appear into her life and then disappear before they really had a chance to give it a go. It had been Gendry who found out, in an email from her a few weeks after she left, explaining everything. Her older brother Willas, his riding accident, the resulting broken bones and spinal injury - she’d flown home as soon as she could, moving back into her family’s home to help with his recovery. Sansa had just stopped being angry about the whole affair when Gendry told her what had really happened. Though it still remained a sore spot for some time after that, Sansa knew she’d have done the exact same thing for anyone in her family.

“I mean, yea, I understand that now,” Sansa says, pausing a few seconds to make sure each square in her waffles is adequately covered in maple syrup. “Whatever, doesn’t matter anyways. I’ll be six hundred miles away again before dinner, not like I’ll run into her again.”

“Right? What’re the chances of that, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a bit since I updated this, sorry about that. The song playing in the club is Against Me!'s I was a Teenage Anarchist, and the one playing in the taxi they take back to Margaery's is Heart's Crazy on You.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s five years later when their paths cross again. Running into her at Arya’s birthday outing was a surprise, for sure, but not too surprising. Not like right now, when Sansa’s just walked through the doors to the large new IKEA on the outskirts of Winterfell. She’s barely inside the sliding glass doors when she sees her, walking away from the daycare area, holding a boy about three years old on her hip, with a blue plastic IKEA bag slung over the opposite shoulder. _It’s her, has to be her, but… a child?_ Sansa glances down then and realizes she looks similar, a baby-wearing sling wrapped across her chest as three month old Lyanna snores away. _But you’re not mine_ , Sansa silently tells her niece, _we’re just hanging out because Arya and Gendry are both working at the shop today._  
  
Margaery must have felt Sansa’s eyes on her, because she looks up when she’s about ten feet away and stops dead in her tracks.  
  
“Sansa Stark.”  
  
“Margaery Tyrell,” Sansa parrots back as she closes the distance between them.   
  
“It certainly is a change of scenery from the last place we ran into each other.”  
  
A smile crosses Sansa face when she allows herself to think back to that time. “Lots of things change in five years. You’ve got a kid.”

“So do you.” Her eyes flit down to the sleeping baby across Sansa’s chest.  
  
“Oh, no, no. This is Lyanna, she’s Arya and Gendry’s. I’m just playing the adoring Aunt Sansa today.”  
  
“Well, Mason here is all mine,” she says, though it’s nothing in way of an explanation and just leaves Sansa terribly curious. She shifts him on her hip so that she’s facing him more directly. “Say, Mace, you wanna go back and play a bit more? This is a friend of Mommy’s and we’d like to get to have some boring grown-up talk time for a bit.” The young boy quickly agrees, and Sansa follows behind Margaery back to the SmäLand entrance as she drops him back off again. “Did you actually need to get anything?”  
  
“Just browsing around,” Sansa replies as they get on the escalator.  
  
“Good.” She holds out her hand to Sansa, who takes it in hers. She knows she probably shouldn’t, but she’s always been horrible at making the best decisions when Margaery Tyrell is involved.

XxXxX

“Life is strange,” Sansa remarks as she sits down at the long table, adjusting how Lyanna was laying against her. They'd made their way through the second level showroom floor and stopped at the cafeteria. “I haven’t seen you in five years, and all of a sudden, it's 1pm on a Tuesday and we're sitting in an IKEA eating meatballs and mashed potatoes, as if this is normal for us.”

“If we were doing what's normal for us we'd be fucking right now.” Sansa's lucky she's just swallowed the mouthful of coffee, or it'd have been all across the table, and most likely covering Margaery as well. Instead she was able to hold herself steady, letting out a deep breath, as Margaery continues. “We still can, if you'd like. Mason has a sleepover with a daycare friend later this evening and I've got no other plans.”  
  
“No, Margaery.”

“Oh shit, I didn't even think.. are you seeing someone? Because if you are, that's great. Really.”

“I'm not seeing anyone, I just can't deal with this emerging pattern we have. It's exhausting and I'm past running into you every couple of years, fucking, and then going our separate ways.” She’s trying her hardest to seek firm in her resolve, and wonders if Margaery is able to see right through her. "I can't do that bullshit anymore."

"We don't have to. I've just relocated to Winterfell a few weeks ago."

"You'd come to Winterfell before, when we first met, and you left not two days later and said nothing."

“I've got Mason now, I'm not just flitting across Westeros like I was when I was nineteen.” Margaery glances down at the remaining food on her plate, pushing it around with her fork. “Will you come over tonight? For dinner, no expectations. I’ll even cook.”

“I just don't know if it's a great idea.”

“Please? If nothing happens and we just have dinner and play Uno or something that'll be enough.”

Sansa smiles, the idea of Maggy getting competitive over a kids' card game amuses her. She's curious, about a lot of things. What Maggy's life has been like in the past five years, what's made her leave Kings Landing and brought her back to Winterfell instead of summery Highgarden, if she still only listens to classic rock, if her touch will still set fire to Sansa's body like she knows it used to. She tries her best to ignore that last one.

They exchange cell phone numbers - the first time in almost a decade that they’ve agreed to continue communicating. She gets the address texted quickly from Margaery, agreeing to meet at her place at seven that evening. Margaery seems much more relaxed after that, once Sansa has agreed to come over, and the rest of their time at the store is spent browsing linens and kitchen goods, mispronouncing the Swedish names of dressers, as if there's no weird history between them. Admittedly, Sansa knows it’d be a bold-faced lie if she said she wasn't dying to know what exactly Margaery has done with herself all these years, but she also knows that it's not the kind of conversation to have while walking through bathroom hardware.

She stands with Margaery when they’re back at the exit and she collects her son from daycare, then pulls Sansa into her side for a hug, taking care to not squish baby Lyanna. It's quick and reminds her of how she hugs Arya or any of her friends goodbye. When they part, she notices Mason standing there with his arms up, like it's his turn now.

“Oh, you don't have to…” Margaery starts, but Sansa is already dropped down and kneeling to hug him before she can finish her sentence. She looks up at her over his shoulder and mouths, it's fine. They say their goodbyes and part ways in the gigantic parking lot, and Sansa looks at her phone, thankful there’s still more than plenty of time for her to finish a few more errands after leaving IKEA. Both Arya and Gendry are home to collect Lyanna when she finally gets back to their condo.

"Were you good for Aunty Sansa today, Lya?"

"She was, sweet and quiet," Sansa replies. She undoes the baby sling carefully and hands her over to Arya, then starts to unpack some of the groceries she picked up. "No idea where she got those traits from."

Arya snorts out a laugh. “Me neither,” she agrees. “Good day though?"

"Not bad, just interesting. I, um, I think I have a date tonight... You'll never guess who I ran into at IKEA."

Before Arya has a chance to guess, Gendry calls out from the other room, "Margaery Tyrell."

"Wait, what?" she almost yells in reply, but lowers her voice to avoid waking Lyanna. "How could you know?"

"We told you Gen was getting a new employee... guess who?" Arya answers, sheepishly. "She called him up a few weeks ago, asking if he's still got the shop up here and if he needed another mechanic."

Sansa nods, she knows they'd been looking for a new mechanic after the last one left a month or so ago, and Gendry's been there day and night trying to keep up with business. Even Arya had been helping out with oil changes and tire issues when she wasn't busy up front.

Arya continues when Sansa doesn't. "So, what's the plan tonight?"

"I told her I'm not doing... whatever it is we do with her any longer... and she said she's actually here for the long haul." She walks into the living room and plops down onto the oversized side chair she's claimed as hers for whenever she visits. "Gods, Arya, am I crazy for wanting to actually try this time?"

"Maybe, but you're my big sister, and I think you're crazy no matter what. However, from what Gendry says she's serious about settling down, bought a condo and picked out a daycare and everything. Probably no better time than now if you wanna give it a go."

  
“You think so?” She looks up at her sister, hovering over where she’s slumped over in the chair.

“Of course I do!” Arya grabs Sansa by the arms and pulls her upright, pushing her towards the door and handing her purse to her. “Now get out of here and go get ready… oh, and Sansa?”

“Hmm?” She turns back towards where Arya still stands in the condo doorway.

“I expect a full report tomorrow morning.”

XxXxX

She goes through her closet after showering, trying to figure out something that says “apprehensive but interested” and not “take me to bed now.” She decides on a teal sweater, oversized and slightly cropped in length, high waisted jeans, and brown leather ankle boots. Ever since she saw Maggy earlier, it seems silly, but she's been wondering what she thinks of her hair. It's short, cut bluntly at chin length in a bob. She'd showed up at her normal hair appointment and instead of getting just a trim, she pulled up a picture of Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction.

Maggy's condo is in the old town center, what used to be called Wintertown long ago, when Sansa's great grandparents lived there. The new downtown is a couple blocks away, with the trendy stores and diners that her friends always wanted to loiter at in high school, but she's always liked Wintertown better. When she was young, the roads were redone and the original cobblestones exposed, stores and cafes line the two roads of the single main intersection, and now that they're in the back end of October and the first snows are starting, there's strands of little white lights strung up in the trees that line the easement between the sidewalk and the road. The old romantic in her used to do homework in the Indigo Star cafe, seated by the window and getting distracted by couples walking hand-in-hand down the road, absentmindedly picking at the fruit-filled muffin she'd bought, wishing it was something she could have. It seems fitting now that she's walking down the same road towards the home of someone she could have that with.

She finds the outside entrance to the condos easily and presses the button for 3B. The loud noise of the buzzer unlocking the door startles her and she jumps. _Get a fucking grip_ , Sansa. She climbs the two flights of stairs and Margaery is standing halfway in the hallway when she gets there.

At first glance, the condo is clean, but it's obvious that a young child lives there - she notices the big wheel near the door, and toys pushed into a corner, like Margaery had did some urgent cleaning before Sansa showed up. Whatever is cooking smells glorious, there's bread, garlic, and so many spices before it dawns on her: butter chicken, garlic naan. She decides even if this night goes to shit, she's going to get a good dinner out of it.

There’s music in the background, which doesn't surprise her, but she has to stop herself from audibly groaning. She recognizes it and wonders if Margaery is trying to send some sort of message her way, or if it was simply the next song in queue.

_All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind  
Would you stay if she promised to you heaven? Will you ever win?_

“Can I take your things?” Sansa passes over her purse and light jacket. Maggy hangs them up and when she turns back towards Sansa, it's obvious she's coming in to hug her. She allows it for a few seconds before she pulls away, suddenly aware that she's got to get out the monologue she worked over on the drive there before she loses her nerve.

“Just… just wait.” Sansa holds on to Maggy’s biceps, holding her at arms’ length and then letting go. “There’s some things I need to say. I don't know you, Maggy and no, let me continue,” she adds, seeing her open her mouth to argue. “You don't know me either. So, here… Hi, I'm Sansa Stark. I'm 27 years old and I went to school in Oldtown for journalism. I just moved back home to Winterfell about a year ago, after working five years at the Oldtown Gazette, I'm a senior editor and local politics reporter at the Winterfell Herald.

“I like spicy food, I'm allergic to soy, and I run with the local running store’s club every Saturday morning. My favorite bands are Oasis and Mumford and Sons.” She takes a step forward, reaching out to take Maggy’s hand. “I listen to a lot of Joni Mitchell now, and it's completely your fault.”

Maggy’s introduction is similar, though Sansa is already aware of her love for old muscle cars and singer-songwriters of the 1960s. She gives a bit of her timeline: Winterfell when they first met, home to Highgarden after her brother's accident, Kings Landing once he'd recovered enough. “I suppose you're mostly curious about Mason though.”

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't.”

“It’s actually not that interesting of a story. Just your usual girl has a drunken one night stand with a guy she meets at a bar. It'd been so long since I'd been with a guy and I guess I'd been a little lax on taking my birth control.”

“And you decided to keep it?”

She nods, letting out a bit of a laugh that sounds slightly self-deprecating. “More like Loras’ boyfriend Renly helped me decide. I'd been… floundering, fucking around… you know that. Our dad passed not long before I got pregnant and it just derailed my life even further. I needed something, Sansa, to ground me, and when I went to those two, they said they'd support me no matter what, but Renly mentioned that maybe this could be something good, something to help me turn things around.” She stops when an oven timer buzzes and nods at Sansa to follow her towards the kitchen. “I knew how much my dad wanted grandkids, and he'd have been over the moon with the news, no matter the circumstance. I know it's the Cliff Notes version, but that about catches you up.”

She joins her in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter, as Margaery takes the naan out of the oven. “Thank you for telling me, Maggy.”

“Of course.” She covers Sansa’s hand with hers quickly, then goes back to portioning out dinner. “Let’s eat, I said I'd make you dinner, didn't I?”

They stuff themselves silly with freshly baked naan and butter chicken, and Sansa realizes that Margaery Tyrell is actually quite the good cook. Instead of Uno, which Maggy admitted was a bit of a joke, they play two games of Scrabble, arguing over whether or not certain words are allowed, and Sansa maintains her job as an editor gives her an unfair advantage.

She doesn't stay the night since she actually does need to be in the office in the morning, and while she would love nothing more than to fall back into bed with Maggy, she's determined that this time around they'll do this properly, _whatever the hell that means._

They both pull the other into a hug, and it feels almost desperate the way they cling to each other for longer than they should.

Sansa looks down at her when she extracts herself from Maggy’s tight arms, searching for some sort of answer on her face, but only notices the telling way her gaze is focused on her own mouth. She slides her hand up Maggy’s arm, cups her cheek, and asks, “May I?”

Maggy’s nod is practically imperceptible, but she breathes out a please that's so needy Sansa feels almost cruel when she bridges the gap and kisses her chastely. It's just a quick press of lips and then Sansa removes herself completely from Maggy, reaching over to grab her jacket and purse from her coat rack.

“Send me a text when you get home?”

“Of course,” Sansa agrees, nodding her head. She knows Maggy is watching her as she disappears down the hallway, a smile growing on her face as she descends the stairs and steps out into the chilly air of late September Winterfell.

XxXxX  
Six months later

Margaery grudgingly joins her running group on Saturday mornings, she's in the slower pace group even though Sansa pushes Mace in the jogging stroller. He's getting a little too big for it, and they've talked about dropping him off at Arya’s those mornings instead. Lyanna has mastered crawling and is starting to pull herself up on chair legs or the coffee table, and Mace somehow thinks it's his job to get her walking.

Sansa’s job at the paper is such that she's able to take lunches with Maggy, eating at the breakroom table in the shop. Arya walks through every so often and picks something off her sister’s paper plate. They're complete opposites sometimes, Maggy in those blue coveralls that make her look like Rosie the Riveter and first caught Sansa’s attention so many years ago, and Sansa in a dark grey pencil skirt and forest green secretary blouse, the bow tied perfectly around her neck. It's easy to think back to the first time Maggy saw her like that, the fire behind her stare when she saw how perfectly the skirt hugged her ass, her breath hot against the shell of Sansa’s ear as she spoke. _If we didn't have a waiting room full of customers, I'd already have you bent over this desk._

Though the subject has been brought up numerous times, they haven't moved in together yet. _Soon_ _though_ , Sansa tells herself. Soon she’ll agree and they can look for something a bit bigger, maybe rent a house so Mace can have a yard to run around in. She imagines planting a vegetable garden in the corner of the yard, and about how they'd have a garage so Maggy’s Firebird wouldn't need to live at the shop.

Sansa spends the night over at Maggy’s condo a couple nights a week, and they trade babysitting duties with Arya and Gendry every other Saturday night so the other couple can have a date night. She teases Arya about making a little sibling for Lyanna, but she knows that her sister’s pregnancy was not kind to her, so she doesn't push beyond teasing.

It's yet another Saturday date night for Sansa and Margaery - they grab dinner at the new Thai place in town and Margaery surprises her by taking her to see an acoustic Oasis cover band at the little indie venue downtown.

They take their time with each other that night; slow and deliberate, they map each other’s bodies out with purpose, savoring the details. Maggy comes first, she somehow always has an easier time getting there. Sansa feels her own climax approaching soon after Maggy turns her full attention to her, crashing over her in waves as she shudders and convulses in her girlfriend’s arms.

“Going somewhere?” The words come out of Margaery’s mouth mumbled as Sansa extracts herself from her embrace a few moments later.

“Just thirsty.” Sansa makes her way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, not bothering to turn the lights on. It's practiced walk that she's done in the dark plenty of times by now. A smile comes across her face as she stands in the kitchen, thinking back to when they'd hooked up in Kings Landing, the encounter so different from tonight.

She knows _exactly_ where the glasses are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished! Thanks to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented. 
> 
> The song playing is Fleetwood Mac's Rhiannon.

**Author's Note:**

> Partially brought on by a few lines in Taylor Swift's Style, and a little headcanons I have where Margaery likes to go as Rosie the Riveter for Halloween, where she's sort of a great mix of masculine & feminine, and doesn't realize that there's even been new music released in the past twenty years.
> 
> The songs in this chapter are Virginia Avenue by Tom Waits, Chelsea Morning by Joni Mitchell, and Me and Bobby McGee, the Janis Joplin version.


End file.
